


I Do

by AinhoaCR



Series: 6000 years of Art [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Art, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), F/M, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspiration, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AinhoaCR/pseuds/AinhoaCR
Summary: Sometimes, when love is overwhelming, it creates Art.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 6000 years of Art [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049204
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	I Do

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dears. This little piece is my humble contribution to the fantastic Almost-Apocalyptic zine. It´s been a while since the last time I wrote something. I hope you enjoy it.

288 B.C. Cyprus, Mediterranean Sea

It had been centuries since the last time Aziraphale saw Crowley. He still remembered his devastated face and his lovely, serpentine eyes full of tears when he asked him, “What about children? Children, too?” At that moment, Aziraphale felt guilty because it was his side, by the way, that was organising all that stuff. Aziraphale loved God, but sometimes he wondered if God should be a bit more merciful and much less rigorous. She had created humans, but She punished them when they followed their proper nature.

Aziraphale was not such a perfect angel. It didn't mean that he wasn't good or kind; he knew he was, from some objective point of view. He loved to do the Right Things, but he found himself doubting and objecting too often. That these doubts and objections did not reach the surface was because, although he was not a good angel, he was an intelligent one, and he knew perfectly well that discussing orders could lead him to Fall.  
That was the reason why he did not argue when his superiors invited (according to Gabriel) or ordered him (according to the angel himself) to go to the Peloponnese Sea. That area was considered a hot spot, and Heaven wanted Greeks to rule all around the Mediterranean sea.  
Aziraphale adored the Greek world. Philosophy, Arts, Science. The concept of the canon of beauty? Brilliant, but simple at the same time. Democracy? Fabulous, incredible. It was not perfect, of course, but Aziraphale had high expectations related to that new form of government.  
Years ago, Alexander the Great had tried to create an empire that now was collapsing. Heaven could not tolerate invaders from other lands that could subjugate Greek civilisation, so now Aziraphale was sitting in a tavern, deciding what steps he should take to consolidate the power of the Greeks in the area.

“Good morning, angel. It is a surprise seeing you here.”

Aziraphale turned his head to see who was talking to him. He was surprised because he did not know any woman in the village. Greeks were very advanced in many fields, but the way they treated women was not one of them if you asked Aziraphale. Women were secluded at home, and they were not allowed to participate in public life. Even more, they were not considered citizens. If Heaven wanted to make things better maybe they should put their efforts in promoting equal rights to everyone, Aziraphale thought.

The unknown lady wore a black cloak, so Aziraphale could not see her face from that angle. The mantle covered her head, in the manner of Greek women, but some rebellious curls had escaped under the cloth. The tufts, of an astonishing copper colour, were dense and thick. Aziraphale knew that ginger hair. Could It be possible...?

“Angel, it has been a long time.”

Aziraphale blinked and when the woman lifted her head...

“Crowley, what a delightful surprise!”

“Are you surprised to see me around here or to see me like this?”, Crowley asked, turning over herself in her new outfit.

“Both indeed, old friend. Sorry, my dear old lady. Should I call you old? It doesn't sound right to me. After all, we're the same age, more o less, and of course, you don't look old, you don't even look mature, you look, you're...

“Angel, enough” Crowley said, laughing. Her voice was musical, a bit sharper than before when they first met. “Now, I am a She as previously I was a He and tomorrow... well, tomorrow will be another day. That doesn't change my essence, who I am. But tell me, what are you doing here?”

Aziraphale looked at her friend’s eyes. She was Crowley, after all. The angular face, the patrician nose, the beautiful golden snake eyes, hidden behind rudimentary lenses, the vibrant energy she always irradiated. All of that and much more was Crowley, and even more. His sweet, lovely Crowley.

“I can't tell you, my dear. You know how this works”, Aziraphale apologised with a sad smile. “Heavenly Affairs. What about you?”

“Oh, well, you know, same old things. Some temptations here, some blackmailing there. Greeks are not compatible with the concept of sin. They are too rational if you know what I mean.”

“Of course, dear.”

They left the tavern and walked in a soft silence through the agora to the small port outside the village. Sea breeze played with the lows of Crowley's robe, causing her to stumble several times. They went up to the lighthouse, leaving the town at their feet. Aziraphale tried not to stare at Crowley. He knew Crowley was handsome, gorgeous. He had always known it, although it was not what had attracted him most. And since he knew that Crowley was beautiful, he could not help but admire this equally impressive version, so defiantly facing the sea, with her feet well planted on the ground. The wind lifted towards the clothes adhering to her body, clearing her face, forming a halo of red hair around her. At some point Crowley spread her wings, letting the air caress her feathers. 

Aziraphale realised that he wished that moment would never end. Crowley, facing the sea, rebellious and defiant, was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He wanted to treasure that moment forever, permanently. Inside his chest, something hurt, perhaps a feeling of loss, of longing. But angels did not desire, and they certainly did not yearn.

With a throat clearing, he turned around to face Crowley.

“Well, my foul fiend, I must go. Be careful, my dear.”

“Don't worry, angel. Stay on the right path until we meet again.”

190 B.C. Samothrace

Aziraphale didn't know exactly how did he end like that. It all had started in the tavern where, after drinking too much, he had begun to talk about beautiful winged women with attractive eyes. His table neighbour, who was listening to him, had begged him to follow him to his workshop. Aziraphale did not understand what the man was saying. He was babbling about an assignment to celebrate the victory of some general. The craftsman was worried. “I need more time”, he had said.

In the artisan’s place, among rocks and chisels, a block of marble was waiting. The stone was cold and shiny. The angel stroked it reverently with his fingertips. The pallor of the marble, its brightness, reminded him of another perfect and immaculate skin, a skin he dreamed about and loved. With a sigh he put the man to sleep, and taking chisel and hammer he let his heart guide him in the task, recreating the moment with Crowley so many years ago: Proud head, firm countenance, defiant attitude, wings spread. When he finished, and while the tears slipped down his face, he placed a slight kiss on the statue's lips, knowing that this would be the only kiss he could share with his beloved.  
The next day, when the craftsman woke up, there was no sign of the angel, only a beautiful statue representing Niké, which led the Greeks to victory. 

Paris France. January 2020  
5 months after Armageddon’t

The snow fell gently over the capital of the Seine that winter morning. Behind the glass of a small café in Montmartre, Aziraphale enjoyed a delicious cup of hot chocolate. Not the instant cocoa they used to serve in some places, but a real hot chocolate, dark and dense.  
Ah, Paris. The angel loved Paris. The city was dramatic, temperamental, and full of life. Exactly what Crowley was.

Aziraphale smiled while he was taking a sip of his chocolate. He had to admit he missed the demon, but the events at Tadfield and the failed attempt of Heaven and Hell to destroy them had caused the redhead to collapse after their dinner at the Ritz, a fact that Aziraphale could not blame. The angel had waited one month, two and even three, but when November gave way to December, and the streets of London began to fill with Christmas lights, Aziraphale assumed that the demon had fallen into another of his long naps. He could not deny that he felt a bit upset. After so much time following orders, the possibility of doing what they wanted was real, though a bit overwhelming, too. However, Aziraphale also knew that Crowley needed to recover from that, and sleeping was his way of doing it.

Aziraphale paid the bill and left the cafe, heading south, towards the Louvre Museum. It was a long walk, but it could help him think. The angel had understood many years ago that the feelings the demon inspired him could put them both in danger, so he had buried them deep inside him. The threat of Heaven or Hell discovering them had frightened him for so long that he had not even dared to think about them.

Now, that fear was gone, but had been replaced by another no less frightening thing...what now?  
Aziraphale felt dizzy when he thought about the future. With Heaven and Hell out of the picture, nothing prevented him from sharing his feelings with Crowley. Nothing except his own cowardice.  
On the one hand, he said to himself that he must be brave and take the risk. On the other hand, the possibility that the demon did not correspond his feelings scared the Hell (no pun intended, thank you very much) out of him, even more, when it could change their relationship, or even worse, Crowley could grow away from him.  
Therefore, Aziraphale was at that moment in a difficult dichotomy: He could step forward and be honest with Crowley, hoping for the best, or he could keep hiding his feelings and act as if nothing had changed.

The angel was so lost in his thoughts that he had reached his destination without realising it. Aziraphale remembered when he and Crowley had visited it just after the arrival of the great Leonardo da Vinci. At that time, the museum was a Royal Palace, and the parties that had been held there had been magnificent. However, the best of those events was undoubtedly the possibility of laughing and dancing with Crowley as if they were two mere humans.

Aziraphale past below the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel and headed to the entrance. The place was full of tourists, but he had a business meeting with the head of the museum's library funds, so he showed his accreditation to the security guard, who kindly let him pass. The angel was a renowned connoisseur of rare and ancient books, and his services were much sought after by the most important libraries and universities, and in this case, museums.

After a brief but promising meeting, Aziraphale left the office. Then, he could enjoy his visit to the museum.  
He had visited the Louvre many times over the years. So many works of art, so much genius in one place was something that always overwhelmed him as if he were in front of God’s face again. And invariably he began his visit in front of her every time.

Aziraphale knew he was too sentimental to be an angel, but it was a hard habit to break. He always felt that the goddess of Samothrace received him with open arms. It seemed to have been the day before when he had sculpted it while he had Crowley in his mind and heart. It was a pity that the head had been lost, although the image of a snake-shaped mark might have attracted unwelcome attention.

Aziraphale materialised himself at the foot of the goddess and stroked the white marble with reverence. That time in the Mediterranean Sea was the first time he let the feelings he treasured inside manifest on the mortal realm, but it would not be the last. Over the years and centuries, and every time he felt his love for Crowley threatened to burst out of his chest, Aziraphale embodied it through art, sometimes inspiring the artists and sometimes taking their places.

Leonardo’s Saint John, the Fallen Angel at the Retiro Park, Donatello’s David ... Aziraphale had even shown Gaudí some memories of Eden to his great work in Barcelona. All those works were a song to impossible and devastating love, love that was both spiritual and carnal and that started at that moment in Mesopotamia, when the demon, with tears in his eyes asked about the fate of the children. Since then, Aziraphale's heart was helplessly trapped in his serpentine eyes.

Suddenly, a vibration pulled Aziraphale out of his thoughts. He had almost forgotten about his latest acquisition, a basic smartphone that Crowley had encouraged him to buy. "Just do it, angel," the demon had said.

“Hello?”

"Angel, I finally find you! Where are you?"

“Oh, Crowley, it's you. I am in Paris, dear. At the Lou ...”

Without letting him finish, Crowley materialised himself at his side. The devil's appearance was as attractive as ever, a total black look that highlighted his red hair even more and made his slim body look even more mesmerising. He tried to maintain a calm façade, although it was evident that he was agitated.

“Damn, angel ...”

“What’s wrong, dear?” Aziraphale asked, surprised, materialising both of them at the base of the statue of Niké. Aziraphale had had the foresight of becoming invisible to the other tourists, but Crowley had not, and although it had only been a second they would have to remove the images from the security cameras later.

Crowley put his hands in his pockets, swinging, hesitating to answer.

“I woke up, and you were not there”, the demon whispered in a low voice, avoiding looking the angel in the face.

“You were sleeping when I went to yours, so I left you a note with my phone number on it on your nightside drawer. I did not want to wake you up.”

“You do not understand, angel. I woke up, and I didn't feel you, neither in London nor England and I ...”

Aziraphale felt a rush of guilt. Apparently, the devil was still under the shock he had suffered months ago, when he appeared at the doors of Aziraphale’s small bookstore in Soho, just to see it in flames.

“Oh, sorry, Crow ...”

The demon attracted Aziraphale to himself, hugging him and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Caught by surprise Aziraphale froze on the spot but reacted immediately, returning the hug with slight hesitation.  
This was new for the two of them. After 6000 years together there had been physical contact between them, such as handshakes or kisses on the cheek, of course. But these had been done more to pretend than anything else. However, this hug was a sign of real affection, something that had never happened before, something that Aziraphale had never dared to dream.  
After a brief moment of hesitation, the angel engulfed Crowley in his arms, stroking his back while the demon was recovering, something that took a few minutes.

"I thought I had lost you again," Crowley said, still with his head buried in the angel's neck. "And that it had happened before I could tell you what I've been hiding all these years, angel."

“And what is that, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, feeling his heart pounding against the walls of his ribcage, while he was absently stroking the demon's red hair, surprised to hold him between his arms.

Crowley raised his face until he made eye contact with Aziraphale, who swallowed when he saw the intensity and pure affection in the devil’s eyes.

“I love you, angel. I have loved you since the first day on the wall, at Eden´s Garden. I have loved you since you gave your sword to humans. And I know you probably don't feel the same, but I had to tell you because ...”

At that moment, it was Aziraphale who cut the devil’s speech, kissing his lips. The demon froze until he realised the angel, his angel, was kissing him. With a sigh of delight, Crowley kissed him back, letting all the love he treasured in his chest go, going through his parted lips.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, when he stopped to breathe, looking at the demon reverently. “I love you too, and I thought it was a hopeless love and you didn't feel the same. But now…”

Aziraphale took the demon's hands, kissing them, while a lump in his throat prevented him from speaking. But words were not necessary, because Crowley knew precisely what he wanted to say since he felt the same.

“Come on, angel”, Crowley said, taking him by the hand, intertwining his fingers and looking into his eyes. “We will go to dinner, and then we’ll dance and drink and laugh. And after that, we’ll make love until dawn. We have a lot of time to make up for.” 

Aziraphale nodded, eyes brightening.

“You wily serpent…” Aziraphale said with a fond smile

“You like me, angel. You LOVE me.”

“I do, my dear. I DO.”


End file.
